


Darcy Maria and the Polaroid Pictures

by rather_live_in_their_world_writer



Series: Polaroid Pictures [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU of an AU, Angst, Bexley Belinda's Cafe, Darcy Lewis is Tony Stark's Daughter, F/M, Kid Fic, Multi, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 12:21:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10360413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rather_live_in_their_world_writer/pseuds/rather_live_in_their_world_writer
Summary: Something was wrong- it was too early.An AU of an AUDarcy Lewis doesn't have a family. She doesn't have a loving mother who bakes seasonal cookies, she hasn't ever met her father, and everything has been changed when little Darcy Maria arrives too early.





	1. Chapter 1

Something was wrong- it was too early.  
Bexley could feel it, in the way her vision blurred and the tearing pain below went numb. Something was wrong. So very wrong. It had all happened so fast... She had been studying… Studying so her baby girl could have a future, when suddenly… There was a bright light in her glazed blue eyes, sweat making her too pale skin somehow sickly and glimmering at the same time. “My baby...” she slurred, reaching to the frantic nurse’s blood covered hands, “Darcy...” she begged. “Her name is Darcy Maria...” the nearly twenty-year-old sobbed softly. “Please, let me see her…” The nurse in bloody purple scrubs held the little pink baby in her arms, rushing off to save the premature child as doctors worked frantically to save the young mother's life. Bexley couldn’t feel anything anymore, and the light was so beautiful- no, no, no, she needed to get to her little girl… She needed to keep her from Stane, unlike how she did with... Oh, Tony, oh- oh- how she wished he was with her right then, holding her hand...“She’ll be just like her father… Just like…just like my To-" her eyes grew steadily duller. "... just like her father...” she whispered, hope in her voice. 

The flatline pierced through the nurse’s heart as everyone worked to resuscitate the young woman with pink hair and dead blue eyes. Somewhere, thousands of miles away, his words went grey.


	2. Not a Forever Family

“Please don’t do this,” she choked out, eyes clouded with tears, voice cracking as her face crumbles to grief. “Please don’t make me go away, please, please-” the little girl cried harder as her foster mother looked on with a cold kind of indifference born from grief. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I promise, I promise I’ll be good, I won’t speak, I won’t ever correct you again- but please, don’t make me go back-”

  
Mrs. Marianne Morrison- a widow and soulmateless at thirty three- looked on the child. The orphan girl who was too smart for her own good. Anne was numb, she had just lost her husband to cancer and she didn’t have the money or the hope to continue raising this bright little child, who clutched a shabby shoebox to her chest. “Darcy,” she said, swallowing down her sobs of losing her soulmate, of knowing she would never fit with anyone else just right. Of knowing that he was gone, and she- she was still there. “Go- go to the car.” Darcy looked up at her with big blue eyes that held intelligence no one could ever fathom. Grief of being left behind again and again shined in those eyes. First by her father- a father she didn’t know- had never met-, only the glimpses of his being through her mother’s unsent letter and smiling polaroid pictures-, then her mother- complications the file had said, the one she peaked at when she had broken into the file room of the orphanage- complications took away her only chance at family, she was the reason for her loneliness, then family after foster family abandoned her again and again. For the _stupidest reasons_ -

  
She was too smart. Too quiet. Had too many soulmarks- must be a whore- she was only five years old when she was told. That having more than one marked you- marked you an outcast. A slut. She was eight years old- and yet, she wasn’t deemed innocent enough to be a child- even when she hadn’t even met them yet-

  
She knew the most popular. She clutched to that shoebox. That shabby size six work shoe shoebox that held every strand of hope she had inside her. As she sat in the back of Mrs. Morrison’s car- in a car seat, as she was born premature and was very, very small for her age- she opened the box with shaking hands. She reached in and grabbed a photo of her mother and the boy who would fall like Lucifer did. How funny she thinks of him as the devil, as most who have heard his name would agree. Darcy never tried to find out who her father was- she never followed the trail before her- because he pushed her mommy away, and now- now she didn’t have anyone. He wasn’t an angel any longer, no matter what her mommy thought, he didn’t have wings - no, that was Bexley Belinda Lewis. A woman with big blue eyes and bubblegum pink hair with blonde roots. She was always smiling, immortalized in those snapshots of a life no one could tell her about.

  
Darcy traced the features of the woman, of her familiar, gap toothed smile. “I love you, mommy, even though you left me, I love you-” she whispered to the picture, eyes shining with the love and loss she had for a woman she had never met. If Bexley Belinda Lewis could have seen her daughter then, she would have been extremely saddened. For all she wished for her daughter- for all she pursued for her daughter by running away, fell through, but it seemed so much worse. Her daughter was lonely, without a sound father figure, without guidance, without love. If Bexley could see her daughter’s future, of the family she would acquire, she would have been happy- because her little girl was capable of so much love, and only needed a solid place to put it. Bexley would hope they knew- when they woke- that they had a very special woman waiting for them.

  
The car came to a stop in front of a brick orphanage in Brooklyn. “G-get out,” Anne choked, eyes closed and fists clenched on the steering wheel. Darcy clutched the shoebox to her chest, pulled her bag stuffed hastily with clothes over her shoulder and got out of the car numbly, tears burning her eyes.

  
As she walked past the children playing, they stopped to stare at her, then whispers erupted. Everyone had thought little Darcy Maria Lewis was finally getting adopted. That she had found her forever family. Everyone was wrong. Delilah Giovanni watched the little girl with pinched lips. “Hey Miss G,” Darcy choked on her way past, “I’m- I’m back again.”

  
“Your bed is the same, Darcy,” she said softly, leading the girl upstairs to her room by her shaking shoulder. “Come down to my office when you’re done with dinner,” Delilah sighed as she left, hearing a sob break Darcy’s lips when she thought her out of hearing rage. Her hands clenched and she vowed to find that girl a family. Maybe- maybe if she could find her father… There had to be a chance that he would want her. That he was a man capable of caring for a love starved girl. There had to be a way.

  
Later that evening, Darcy shuffled into Miss G’s office, clutching that shoebox, sleeves pulled down to cover the marks there. From her medical files from yearly pediatric visits, one would find that Darcy Lewis had two soulmarks on her body. One on her left forearm, in a man’s neat cursive, ‘I- honestly don’t know what to say for you to recognize me.’ On her right, mirroring the other in position, held the soft strokes of another saying, ‘You know me?’ So innocent in his confusion. The people who called her what they did, didn’t know what they were talking about, clearly. Two soulmarks doesn’t seem like much. She was a child, and they clearly over reacted. Other’s wouldn’t agree. More than one mark was the sign of the devil. It is said that great prophets didn’t have marks, and that humans were blessed with one to procreate. These works don’t acknowledge same sex soulmates. So for someone with more than one, it was deemed a mark of a witch.  
Delilah Giovanni wanted to strangle every person who said a word against this little girl with bright blue eyes and a dark head of curls. Those medical files would also recall that this girl had asthma and a immune system deficiency, that she was destined to be small and fragile. But looking on that little girl now, she could not imagine her fragile. Darcy stood her tallest, her head held high, even when her lip trembled, she only clenched her stubborn jaw, decidedly done with tears. “Please sit down, Darcy,” Delilah gestured to the creaky chair that was meant for school classrooms. Some of the plastic on the back had broken off from a few very angry foster children she had tried to council. “To be frank, Darcy, I want to find your father.” Delilah knew from experience, that Darcy Maria Lewis hated sugar coating. The girl stayed silent. “To do that, I need you to tell me something. Is there- is there any mention of him in that box?” Darcy nodded her head slowly. “Could you please show me?”

  
Darcy froze. She had never in her life shown anyone what was in this shoebox. When the other kids tried to take it away, she had punched them with her sharp fists. When the adults had tried to take it away, she would scream and kick and bite until it was her’s again. No one had ever asked before, though. After several minutes, Darcy nodded slowly, and handed the box over to Miss G, who she knew would be careful, because Miss G was always gentle. Even when kids screamed and yelled and kicked, she was nice. Miss G would be a good mom.

  
Delilah took the box in careful hands, before gently setting it on her desk. She carefully took of the lid and set it to the side. She picks up a picture randomly, revealing the caption, ‘The most handsome boy in the world ~~and a sack of potatoes~~ and the most beautiful girl in the world.’ She then sees the people in the picture. Particularly, the boy.  
“Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead! Yay! Can't wait to hear what you think!


	3. A Ring She Never Wore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark knew he was a fuck up.

Tony Stark knew he was a fuck up. But honestly, what did it matter anymore? Bexley was- Bexley was- gone. Dead. Just like his parents. He’d fucked up bad once again, and now Bexley was in a place he couldn’t follow. Well, he could… He  _ could _ follow her. But something inside of him, something big and growing, was keeping him here. Said he had a purpose, even when Bexley was gone. No record of her ever dying, no cause, she was just- she was just- Gone. Dead. 

 

He was once again in his closet, with a black velvet box held like glass in his shaking hands. Most days he could drown out the regret. With alcohol. With Sex. With making and testing weapons of destruction. But some days, all that felt like it was disrespectful to her. 

Bexley Belinda Lewis. 

The girl he fell in love with the moment he met her. The girl he never told that to. The girl he let think she was unwanted. The girl he left behind in his despair. The girl he let run away. The girl he let die. The girl who was the only one that ever mattered. He clutches the black box to his chest, breathing deeply. He could almost feel her pink hair brushing his chin, could almost feel the pressure and warmth of her against him. But he knew it wasn’t there. He knew that all he had of her was a ring she never wore in a box he tried not to open. He knew what would happen if he did. He knew the familiar rush of grief, of regret. He knew the tears, he knew the rage, he knew the moments where he was in so deep the only way out seemed to take a gun to his head and-

But he couldn’t do that. There was something inside him. Some voice in his head saying he still had things to do. What things, he didn’t know. But it was there, and if it sounded a bit like Bexley, no one would know. His angel- His soulmate- His one and only was gone and it felt like someone had ripped his heart out and pissed all over it. But he stays, because of a feeling. He calls it pathetic. His father would say that he was a coward. His mother was too out of it most of the time to speak to him. But Bexley would say that it was right. And that’s all that mattered. 

He gently opens the lid, and as expected, his world crumbles around him once again, as his vision is filled with the glint of red and gold and visions of a woman long dead. 

 

This had to be some kind of big fucking joke. It had to be. He had just resurfaced after three days of working himself to the bone to forget, he had a headache, and he was tired. This must have been some test by Obie, a delirious dream- 

“What did you just say?” he asked the too calm assistant severely.

           “I said there was a woman on the phone claiming to have Bexley Lewis’s things in New York City. A box of polaroid pictures, a letter, and a map out of a cafe, among other belongings,” she says,the redhead raising an eyebrow at him. One of those things was an eight year old girl, but that wasn’t something someone could say over the phone, let alone leave with an assistant. “She left a place to meet her tomorrow, because said, and I quote ‘Don’t bother me unless the world is on fire- even then, be real hesitant.’” Tony raised an eyebrow at the too skinny- too made up woman, who looked nothing like Bexley. He tried not to flinch at his own assessment as questions built in his mind. 

           “Send the address to my jet and tell Obie I’m off partying in- Vegas,” he rushed past her, yanking on his jacket and twirling his car keys around his finger. After almost nine years, and still, he would move the earth and heavens for Bexley Belinda Lewis. Even if the writing on his thigh had gone pale, and left him empty… He had to know. He had to know what she might’ve left behind. 

 

The woman who contacted him- a Delilah Giovanni- was a social worker for a run down orphanage in Brooklyn. Forty-three years old. Married to her soulmate, no children of her own. She wanted him to meet her at a cafe a little ways away. Happy was suspicious, but he, too, was curious as to what Bexley had left behind. Tony was more obsessed. He didn’t sleep on the flight over or in his penthouse in Manhattan. He once again tried to find the missing death certificate of Bexley Belinda. If he didn’t have the grey proof of her death on his thigh- he could almost hope that- that she was just hiding. That she had made her cafe. That she was happy. That she was breathing. 

If he couldn’t feel the coldness of those grey words written across his thigh- he could almost close his eyes- close his eyes and dream that when he got there, she would be waiting. That Mrs. Giovanni was a friend she asked for a favor. ‘Contact him- tell him my things were left here. Tell him he should come immediately. Tell him to come soon.’ He feels agony build in his chest like a scream. He forces it down and runs a shaking hand through his hair as he walks towards the small cafe in Brooklyn. A black woman is at the counter, keeping an eye on a little girl ways away, coloring. “Monique! Keep those scribbles on the paper, young lady!” 

“I know, Mama! I know!” Tony feels his lips quirk slightly. He wonders if that could’ve been Bex one day. Running her cafe- keeping an eye on their little girl. He would be there, of course, coloring along with the girl as she giggled insistently. He frowns and shakes the image from his head, knowing that it was impossible. He shouldn’t let his fantasies run wild like that. He knew he was a masochist but… 

His eyes fall on an Italian looking woman with black hair speckled with grey and wrinkles around her eyes. Delilah Giovanni. He attempts to swagger towards her, but it falls flat as his eyes fall on the familiar shabby shoebox sitting beside her, with what he knows was scented marker claiming it Bexley’s. “You weren’t lying.” He speaks before he thinks, stuck staring at the size six work shoe and the picture of those damn clunky black clogs she wore when she worked at that stoner’s cafe in Malibu. She gestures to the chair across from herself and hands him a cup of coffee. He sits and takes a sip. It’s too good. It’s not how he’s always liked it. Crappy. 

“No, I wasn’t lying, Mister Stark, but there were some things I withheld from you. Here,” she opens the box with great care, setting the top aside with gentleness. She takes out a worn, unsealed envelope. “This is for you, from Miss Lewis. It was left in someone else’s care.” He wants to ask who, but he keeps his mouth shut as she hands him the letter. He opens it with shaking hands and curses to himself. The tightness in his chest clenches tighter as grief opens the black hole in his chest, stealing his breath. His eyes frantically eat the dried ink, the beautiful, messy scrawl that marks his thigh like a strike of lightning, raised like the scar it is. He had almost forgotten what her handwriting looked like in black. 

It reads: 

 

_ Dear Tony, _

_I wonder if you’d recognize my handwriting, or if you’d have to scan to the bottom, then have the sudden realization, your hand going to the outside of your thigh. I miss you. I miss you so damn much, I want to go back to you, it’s been seven months and it still hurts like a bitch… But there’s something I need to get off my chest, something in me tells me that I need to write this down, that I need you to know. I’m pregnant._

_She’s yours Tony, kicks just like you did those late nights, what seems like forever ago. Remember when Jarvis  caught us because we were laughing too loud? I do. And now I’m almost eight months pregnant, and her heartbeat is strong, can you believe it? She’s gonna be beautiful and stubborn, and I’m hoping she’ll have your eyes, your nose, your smile. In a way, I don’t want to have to see you in her every time I look on our little girl, but I hope she has that stubborn Stark chin. I’m hoping that you never find out. Not because you would be a bad father Tony- but because of him._

_Stane, he’ll kill her. He’ll corrupt my little girl,_ _just like he did to you._ _I don’t want that bastard near my baby. I don’t want him to get his claws on her. He threatened our little girl, Tony. I couldn’t stay or else he would have killed the both of us. A distraction. I was holding you back, he said. I couldn’t help but believe him, in a way, I still do. But our child, she’ll be better than both of us. I can already tell she’s gonna be a firecracker, Tony, and I don’t want Stane to snuff out her fire_ _just like he did to me_ _. I can feel it the same way I knew you were gonna be an asshole. She’s gonna be loved so hard. I promise, Tony. I need to be there. I got to._

_But if something happens, and she’s all alone. I need you to keep her safe, Tony. I need you to be the father you never had. I need you to be everything this little girl would ever need. A father, a mother, a friend. I need you to be everything we could’ve been. Please._

 

_ Sincerely, _

_ Bexley _

_ B. _

_ Lewis _

 

Tony thinks he might be sick. Oh, fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.  _ Jesus Christ what had he done? _ She ran away to- to protect something greater than him, than her. A baby girl. His baby girl. He had a daughter- and what had he been doing? He grits his teeth as Giovanni goes on to explain why she contacted him. Darcy, Darcy  _ Maria _ Lewis, an eight year old girl who has been all alone while he- while he- 

He had been fucking every bleach headed bitch who walked his way- he had been drinking to forget the woman who died alone to protect the living embodiment of their love. 

And  _ Stane- _

He had threatened their daughter. He had threatened what he deemed a ‘distraction.’ Tony felt the familiar Stark rage boiling in his mind. He seemed to only ever feel it when Bexley was involved, but right now, he couldn’t think straight. He would get him. Oh, he would get him. He would tear him apart with his finger nails. The pain of Bexley’s disappearance and death was too fresh to try and hold himself back. Bexley was gone. Bexley was gone-

But there was a little girl out there, alone. 

There was a girl who was proof that Bexley had been real. His last, living connection to his soulmate was sitting in an orphanage. 

“When can I meet her?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I really appreciate all the reviews! Please continue with the feed back! 
> 
> <3  
> Author


	4. Darcy Maria is Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy Maria is Trouble

Darcy Lewis knew she was Trouble. She knew it like she knew her mommy’s every feature. She knew it like she knew her daddy was handsome but neglectful. She knew it like she knew that loving people made them go away. She knew it like she knew she’d love them anyway. She knew it like she knew her own name, mostly because seemingly every time someone said “Darcy Maria!” it was followed closely by, “You are Trouble!” 

She was so sick of it. She was sick of not having a forever family. She was sick of never knowing what her mommy’s voice sounded like. She was sick of staring at the happy faces of people she would never meet. She was sick of being the freak who clutches to a shoebox like a lifeline. She was sick of being angry, of being sad, of crying silently so no one calls her a baby. She was sick of being The Troubled Darcy Maria. The little girl no one wants. 

She guesses that sickness kind of built up. It crawled up her throat like a scream, and it kind of just snapped when that jerk Ryan had said- when he accused her of- when he said-

 

“Did you here, Lewis? Did you hear what Mrs. Morrison did?” Ryan had taunted, holding a newspaper from that day in his grubby paws. “Did you hear what she did because of you?” 

Darcy glared at him, wishing she held the comfort of her shoebox, and that she hadn’t allowed Miss G to borrow it. She tried to take a breath and clutched her ribs, digging her fingernails into her skin until she had the imprint of crescent moons in her palms. “Come on, Lewis! Guess!” he egged her on. But still, she kept silent.He seemed to lose his patience, and revealed the front page. His voice was low, like a threat. 

“She killed herself. Because of you, Lewis!” She felt her blood run cold at his words, accompanied by the title- the evidence-, ‘Local Teacher Commits Suicide,’ with a smiling picture of Mrs. Morrison. When she still had fat on her bones and bright, sunny eyes. ‘Overdose’ it said. ‘Complications’ she saw. Her nails bit into her skin, leaving bloody moons on her shaking hands, as she tried to stay keep her breathing even. Ryan’s next words seemed to be thoughts pulled straight from her head, but hearing them outloud made her indescribably angry. “Another forever family, gone- another person who doesn’t want you- another Mom you  _ killed _ -” 

Before she even knows it, her fist is flying towards his ugly face. His head knocks back and blood spurts from his nose, all as a scream erupts from Darcy’s chest, a scream so primal and filled with agony it echoes in the silent courtyard. “Darcy Maria!” one of the nuns at the neighboring church exclaimed from her watch over the children. “You are Trouble!”

Darcy feels resigned to this truth. 

 

Darcy Maria is Trouble. 

 

The punch did not make her feel any better. If anything, it made her feel more empty, more deserving of the loveless life she lived. Her knuckles were bruised badly and hurt worse with the crescents and her breathing was extremely escalated. In, Out. In, Out. In, out. Purple, blue, and red mottled her pale skin already, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out as she was forced to scrub the blood from her hand, her harsh breathing filling the tense air. 

“Roll up those sleeves young lady, scrub those arms!” Sister Eliza spit and she wanted to scream. She could not reveal the words, like leeches, latched onto her skin, sucking out her hope, black and dark like external proof of sin. 

“No,” was all she could utter, yanking her sleeves further down, trying to slip her wrists out of the bruising hold of Sister Eliza, whose cold, bitter hands held her down like chains. 

“Do not disobey your elders! A sin, in the house of God! How dare you? Roll up your sleeves!” When she refused once again to roll up the sleeves of her threadbare t-shirt, the Sister yanked them up, only to gasp in horror at the black marks cursing her skin. Darcy felt herself resign to the rejection she felt spit in her face. “A whorish girl doesn’t belong in any church of mine!” she exclaims, shoving the girl away from her. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” 

So she got out. 

She felt tears burn her eyes and frustration build and build and build. She was gasping for breath, trying to make sense with the amount of emotions building inside of her. Anger- at herself, at Ryan, at Sister Eliza, at God, at her beautiful mommy, at  _ everything _ -, Sadness- for her mommy’s death, for her lack of father, for Mrs. and Mr. Morrison who became one after death-, Overwhelming disappointment once again. She had lost another family. Though it was through no fault of her own, she could not bare to not take the blame for something out of her control. She pushed through the children playing, through the nuns guarding the door to the orphanage, and past the legs of a man and woman in front of Mrs. G’s office.  

“Darcy Maria!” a familiar voice calls for her, but she cannot breathe, she cannot think. All she hears is that chant of ‘Get out-Get out-Get out-’ over and over. ‘Trouble-Trouble-Trouble,’ echoing in her brilliant mind. She curls in on herself in the corner of the long room that held the orphan girl’s beds. She cannot breathe and she cannot think.  _ ‘It’s all my fault- my fault, my fault, my fault- _ ’ A large presence walks towards her softly, hesitantly. No one has ever been hesitant when touching her. They always went straight for the kill. It makes her mind spiral further into panic. What was he planning?

“Darcy,” a male voice says softly. If Darcy could think, she would have found he sounded in awe- of her. “Can I touch you, Darcy?” he asks, so softly- with so much kindness and sympathy and understanding, how could she not see what he was sincere? But her mind has been spoiled by children with rotten words, men with rotten intentions, and women with rotten promises. She shakes her head, lashing out with a hand, nails bared. “It’s okay, Darcy. Breathe, baby-girl. Breathe for me, Darcy. Follow me, come on, in… out… in… out…” Slowly, her breathing became easier, and her tears came to a stop. She slowly opened her eyes and found herself looking to the man who comforted her, to find a familiar face. 

“Daddy?” 

 

  
“There are things you need to know about Darcy, Mr. Stark,” Delilah said softly, earlier that day when he started to stand to go to see Darcy. “Please sit back down.” 


	5. Hope, Here, and Nightmares

That quiet moment after her realization was held delicately in Fate’s hands, and she smiled down at it kindly, if regretfully, for it was moments like these that she almost regretted the fate she had spun for these powerful souls. The great Tony Stark was speechless. All he could do was stare at this angel- this fantasy of a future he thought he could never have- made reality. He cannot speak, he cannot comprehend the little- too little- girl in front of him. Oh fucking hell, he thought he lost that perfect shade of blue when Bex died, but here it was, in front of him. That warm mix of blue, grey, and lavender. He felt tears build in his eyes. His hands shook as he brushed back those dark curls, soft to to the touch. Oh she was the perfect mix of both of them. Suddenly, he couldn’t imagine a life without this little girl. 

“Darcy Maria,” he says in astonishment. The way she seemed to brace herself makes him sad, but he continues, voice choked, “You’re perfect.” She blinks those big, sad eyes in surprise. He feels rage at Stane then- he threatened this little girl- if he hadn’t- she could have been with him all along. He then recalls his part in driving Bexley away and he feels his heart constrict in his chest. How could a heartless bastard like himself raise something so  _ pure _ \- 

“You’re really here?” she said, bringing his focus back to her. He curses himself for ever having his focus away from her. All he could do was treasure every moment as he regretted everything he had ever done to keep her away. 

“Of course I am, Darcy. If- If I had known that you were here, I would have come sooner, I’ve just got to set up your room and get rid of Stane- then we can be happ-” 

“But you’re here,  _ now _ . You’re here- You’re really here,” she says, looking to her father. He looked so sad… His warm brown eyes looked on her with awe- but she couldn’t believe he actually  _ wanted _ her.  _ No one _ ever wanted her. Maybe he will at first- but, it never lasts. Like with Mrs. Morrison- or Mr. Righter- or Miss Jenny- or her  _ mommy _ . Every one of them either left or was taken away. Much to her horror, she feels tears build in her eyes once again, but she cannot stop them. “You’re  _ here _ \- you’re  _ real _ -” She feels sobs build in her chest and echo in her throat as she repeats it over and over. “You’re here, you’re here, you’re here-” He pulls her close, and her arms wind themselves around his neck as he holds her- his  _ daughter _ \- finally in his arms, his own tears wetting her hair. He finally knows why Bexley wanted him to stay. He had to stay for this little girl. For if he wasn’t, he couldn’t speak the words he knew this girl most definitely needed to hear:

“I’m here, Darcy, I’m here.” 

 

Obadiah knew something was-  _ off _ with Tony. He didn’t go out, he started coming to meetings like an actual CEO should and was always eager to get home. Obadiah felt suspicious and irritated- he had had Tony right where he needed him, suicidal and self-destructive. Tony was miserable- drowning himself in alcohol and women, so he never noticed the less than legal things that Obadiah was doing right under his nose. Or the way that Obadiah was to get his share of the company if- and when- Tony died. It was all part of his plan. When the right time came and Stark’s will gave him full control of the company and the brat had given him all the weapons he needed to prosper, he would send Stark to his death and bring the orphan girl under his wing, allowing her to take her father’s place. He would use the old I-hate-my-neglectful-father-but-still-want-

his-approval mindset to his advantage once again, send off whatever soulmate she had with a few well placed threats and careful manipulation, then use her genius to make more weapons of self destruction, thus profiting abundantly. 

Obadiah didn’t account for Delilah Giovanni, or the fact that Miss Pepper Potts would surprisingly not spill Tony’s true location, that when dear old Obie asked after him, Pepper would say ‘off being Tony in Vegas, as usual’ with just the right amount of annoyance to convince him- so he couldn’t quickly threaten Giovanni’s soulmate and shuffle the girl deeper into the depths of the system in New York City. He did not expect Bexley Lewis’s letter. Telling of his threats.

But, Obadiah didn’t get to where he was today without a bit of paranoia. A lot of paranoia. Which led to him quickly deciding that Stark needed to be _taken care of,_ at the first sign of Tony not trusting him. He would simply accelerate the timeline of his plans. 

 

Tony couldn’t tell you what a father was supposed to be like. From his experience, a father was distant and hollow and made you feel like you would never become more than a stupid little boy. A father was a man who paid the nannies and who drank every hour of the day. A father was a phantom that haunted you, always making you wonder if he was proud of you now. He prayed he could be the father he never had, as Bexley had wished. He hoped for Darcy. 

Darcy couldn’t tell you what a father was supposed to be like, but she liked to hope that it was what Anthony Edward Stark was. Kind, comforting. A teacher, a leader, and everything she hadn’t dared to dream. A person who set rules designed to keep her safe and happy. Who gently held her in his arms as he showed her how to wire her own robot as DUM-E looked on with whatever kind of joy a robot could have. Darcy liked to hope that this was what a forever family felt like. That he wouldn’t leave her, not like the rest. She would have her Daddy there to hold her hand as she grew, as she learned, as she built a life of her own. She would like to be as smart as her dad, as ambitious as her mother, and as happy as the faces in her polaroid pictures. She had hope for the future. A future with her Daddy. 

In each other, they found hope. 

 

But hope doesn’t stop nightmares. 

He dreams of losing her like he lost Bexley. He dreams of letting her down, of making the mistake that makes her leave forever. He dreams of her looking at him in disgust- distrust. He dreams of sadness in her glistening eyes, and her back as she turns to walk away. No running. She’s conscious enough in her decision there’s no need to run. He dreams he never sees her again, and that one day, a few months later, he get’s a call. He dreams he’ll lose the girl who has quickly become the most important facet of his life. He has nightmares that she’ll leave him. 

She dreams of losing him like she lost everyone. She dreams of his disappointment, of his once warm brown eyes looking down at her with disdain that had grown over the years, had poisoned them. She dreams of him hating her because she wasn’t her mom. She dreams of him sending her back because she was a burden that he didn’t want to bear. She dreams of sitting in the back of his car on a tense ride back to the orphanage, of seeing the paper the next day. A picture of a man dead because of complications. 

When he has nightmares, he treads softly to her room. It used to a room for temporary people, but now it was her’s for forever. He gently lies his thumb on the identification pad, and the door clicks softly as it unlocks. The walls, in sunlight, are lily green. The furniture is dark chocolate wood, beautifully made, but he ignores the twinkling fairy lights and starry sky outside the wall to wall windows that look over endless ocean, in favor of looking to his daughter. The soft light makes her pale skin warm, her dark hair shine. She’s an angel. 

Her brow furrows suddenly, and she shakes her head, her voice so soft that if it wasn’t for the complete silence that covers the house, he wouldn’t have heard her plea, “Daddy, please- don’t go, Dad-” she rolls onto her back, then to her side, soft sobs leaving her lips. He’s beside her bed, on his knees, before he even registers it. 

“I’m here, Darcy, I’m here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More things explained next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding time!!

Pepper Potts earned Tony Stark’s trust when he came back from New York with a little girl with big blue eyes, his dark hair, nose, and jaw, and Pepper just bent down to smile at the girl directly. “I see your trip to Vegas was, eventful, Mr. Stark. We should put in an order for some things for this little angel, shouldn’t we?” Evidently, Pepper loved kids. “I’m Pepper Potts, what’s your name?” 

“Darcy Maria Lewis,” Darcy had answered, a smile quirking her mother’s lips. 

“Nice to meet you, Darcy. I’m sure we’ll be great friends.” And they were. 

 

Darcy was silent with intense concentration as she painted her toenails a dark blue. Pepper sat beside her on the couch, painting her own nails a pretty beige color. Darcy thought the color was kind of boring, but Pepper said it would match her shoes better. Her dad walked in, smiling at Darcy warmly while carrying three plates of pizza. “Eat up, Dee,” he said, placing the plate on the coffee table in front of her. She smiled, a little shyly, up at him, in thanks, before carefully replacing the brush in the nail polish and grabbing the pizza. Tony had been trying to fatten his daughter up, and Pepper contributed to his goal wholeheartedly, often being the one buying groceries and snacks for the man child and his child, but, the little munchkin was still skin and bones, it seemed her obsession with Butterfingers hadn’t caught up to her yet. 

Her dark tresses seemed to have more mass than her. Right now, the thick curls were restricted into two french braids that still brushed mid back. “Daddy?” She asked, looking up at him innocently, but he could see the familiar mischief in her eyes. 

“Yeah, Dee?” 

“Can I paint your nails?” Her full lips were pulled into a beautiful gap-toothed smile and her eyebrows pointed up in feigned innocence, but sincere in her hope. Tony felt his resolve crumble as she pulled out the puppy-dog eyes. Jesus, where did she learn this stuff? How could any man say no to that face?

“Fine!” he groaned, but he was still grinning at the giggle erupting from his daughter’s lips as she took out the hot rod red and sparkling gold. She’d only been with them a few short months, and sometimes she still had that look on her face as if the carpet was about to be ripped out from under her, but it was moments like these he cherished the most. When she was carefree and mischievous and  _ happy _ . Tony knows the love building in his heart. He had only felt it once before- and that had ended too soon. He had to fight off the sudden onslaught of guilt that came when he thought of the things he could’ve done to save Bex, but with the thought that he was doing what Bexley had requested, came a sense of relief. He would be everything this little girl needed. And he knew he would do anything to see her smile. He knew why he had to stay. He knew it was because of this little girl. 

Even if he had to put up with the two men marking his angel’s skin, as long as she was happy, everything would be fine. And if that included slipping her a Butterfinger before Pepper called in dinner, well, that was between the two of them- and maybe JARVIS. 

 

Pepper watched the father-daughter scene in amusement. Both barefoot, sporting blue, red, and gold nail polish on their toes, the two Starks put the finishing touches on their robot. “It’s name is Butterfingers!” the youngest Stark proclaimed, and the peculiar robot seemed to nod it’s head/sensor in agreement, following Darcy’s every movement with it’s camera. “Our first AI together!” 

“No, no, Dee, this one is all yours. You’re taking responsibility for whatever disasters this one stirs up! I saw the ‘Mischief’ coding! Don’t even try that- that goddamn smile. Jesus. You’re killing me, kid.” Darcy only hugged her father tighter, giggling softly. Suddenly, JARVIS spoke up, sounding very, very worried for an AI. 

“Sir- Mister Stane has arrived on premises!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Inspiration is hard to find, and I'd love to hear what you'd like to see below!

**Author's Note:**

> Please Kudos and Comment! Feel free to contact me with ideas on where this should go!


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